


Now My Neck Is Open Wide (Begging for a Fist Around It)

by orphan_account



Series: Wentzporta Boyfriends With No Bands AU [1]
Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcohol, Homophobia, M/M, Slurs, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fall Out Boy never got that record deal, Cobra Starship wasn't even conceived, and two fucked up musicians found solace in each other. My friend requested I write this one-shot based on my own prompt, in which Pete gets beat up and Gabe has to clean him up and take care of him. I hope you can enjoy it as well, and feel free to leave polite feedback in the comments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now My Neck Is Open Wide (Begging for a Fist Around It)

**Author's Note:**

> There will be the use of the F-slur at the beginning of this work, as well as depictions of graphic violence. Read with caution.

He wanted to get beat up.

Well, he wanted to get drunk, and then get beat up, because he'd care a lot less about the pain. Pete Wentz was actually a bit afraid of pain, but then after the first punch and the second and the third, he would start to go numb, and he didn't really care anymore.

He chose his bar carefully. Shady enough to ensure that someone could be encouraged to jump him, but just clean enough that he knew he wouldn't be drinking rat poison. He didn't go for straight alcohol first, and ordered a series of mixed drinks. He'd never understood why they were labeled "girly" drinks because they tasted better than half of the shit on the wall behind the bar, and they tasted better than most beer. But there was a reason for him choosing those drinks specifically, and a guy at the end of the bar noticed.

"Fag."

Pete could barely hear him over the shitty rock music playing over the speakers, but the little chuckle from the bartender let him know the first blow had been delivered. He ordered four shots of vodka and tossed them back, one after the other, wincing and gagging as he did so. They'd kick in while the gentleman at the end of the bar was punching him. He paid for the rest of his drinks, leaving no tip behind, and stumbled out into the night.

The cool night air somehow made him feel more nauseous, and he almost regretted the shots. Almost. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he felt a wave of real regret roll over him.

"Gabe?"

"Oh thank god, you finally fucking answered. Where have you been?"

"Y'know that j- joint -" he'd hiccupped, "where my old failure of a band played that show?"

"Yeah I do. You drunk?"

"Y- Yeah," he hiccuped again.

"I thought we had a rule about never getting drunk without me - "

"- because I get self destructive. I know. I'm always self destructive anyway."

"But the alcohol makes it worse. Hang tight, I'm coming to get you."

"No, wait - "

He huffed out a rancid breath as he heard the other hang up, and then his phone was being knocked out of his hand. The man from the bar grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him into the little alleyway nearby, slamming him into the wall.

"Was that your fucking boyfriend, FAG?"

"Yeah, actually, it was," Pete giggled and spoke with amusement, already braced for the beating that was coming.

And then the fire rained down. The man went for the balls first which is just mediocre, thugs in this city were so uncreative, and then the face, ribs, stomach. He threw Pete down on the ground at one point, punctuating each of his punches with a slur. He got tired at one point, or maybe it was the sound of a cop car on call that made him back off, and he left Pete bleeding in the grime on the ground.

Pete rolled over onto his side so he could spit out the blood, and pieces of his lip that got ripped up, and waited. Maybe he'd fall asleep before Gabe arrived. Neither of them could afford a hospital bill, and he didn't think he could afford to see the look on Gabe's face right now. But, he was an extraordinarily unlucky man. The choked out sob echoing in the alleyway told him that.

"Oh no, no, no, please..." Gabe muttered as he rushed to the others side. He knelt down, avoiding the little puddle of blood, and ran a shaky hand over Pete's side.

"Hey baby," Pete slurred, blinking slowly. He was probably going to pass out soon.

"Fuck, we need to - "

Whatever it was Gabe had to do got cut off as Pete accepted the approaching darkness and fell into it, into a feverish, dreamless sleep.

**[Act 2]**

He woke up about five minutes from their apartment, and found himself being carried by a straining and worried Gabe. Why didn't he just call a taxi? Oh yeah, money. He sighed and wrapped his arms around Gabe's neck, moving closer to him. Even in his delirious state he was seeking out the other affectionately, but he doubted it would be reciprocated until he was sober and cleaned up.

"You need to stand up now so I can unlock the door."

Pete whined a little, forever stubborn, but did as he was told.

The door creaked as Gabe opened it, and got stuck at one point, but shitty wages meant shitty living spaces, and ushered the other inside. Pete leaned against the wall and nearly slumped down but the other was on him the minute the door was locked, and he was being carried again into the bathroom. The effects of the drinks were wearing off and the anxiety and shame this incident left him with started to make his stomach sick.

"Put me down."

"No, you're -"

"Fucking put me down Gabe, I'm going to throw up."

They barely made it to the bathroom and he definitely missed the toilet at first, but he cleared out his stomach, nearly choking on it, and Gabe was there the entire time. He felt the others hand on his back, but even after the waves of nausea stopped, he couldn't bring himself to look at him. He just slumped back against the bathroom wall and watched through half-closed eyes as his boyfriend cleaned up after him.

"Get out of your clothes."

"Buy me a drink first."

Gabe turned and looked at Pete with such a burning intensity that the other knew he couldn't look away. He couldn't tell if Gabe was angry or sad or some combination of the two and it was a bit terrifying. Quietly, no more quips or jokes, he stripped out of his disgusting clothes, and handed them over. Then he was alone with his thoughts as he heard the washing machine begin to run. He could hear the other moving around the house, but there was no passive anger, no slamming doors or muttered insults, so he wasn't angry. That was good.

He groaned a little bit as he moved to turn the faucet on. He was not going to fucking stand under any circumstances, so a bath seemed like a better choice. After several minutes of struggle and general laziness, he waited for Gabe to return.

"Good idea, we'll bathe you first. Then I'll have a better look at everything."

Pete nodded silently and glanced at him, no doubt looking something like a dog that had just been kicked, and watched him carefully as he ran a tub. 

"Up," Gabe murmured softly when the time came to move to the tub, and he obeyed, relying on the others help to get him in the water. It was a little bit warmer than he expected and he hissed in pain, catching a glimpse of regret on Gabe's face as he did so.

"Sorry, I'll add more cold."

Gabe's hand was shaking as he turned the faucet on, and at this point, Pete decided it was time to cry. No loud crying, not just yet, but little tears pooling at the edges of his eyes. Sniffing and deep breaths and more and more tears that he was trying to keep from falling. He shouldn't have done this. He shouldn't have gone out without Gabe and he shouldn't have goaded that guy into beating him up. His state became more obvious when the water was turned off again, and Gabe leaned over to kiss his forehead.

"It's okay."

"No it's not."

"We'll talk about it later, when you're safe and cleaned up."

He couldn't bring himself to say that he loved Gabe, because he felt like someone who really loved their partner wouldn't go out and do shit like this. But Gabe loved _him_. He could tell. He saw it in his eyes, in his actions, Gabe Saporta loved him with all of his heart. It was so hard to hide in public, and he was sure all of their friends knew already, but he wasn't as comfortable with his sexuality as Gabe was. He hadn't even figured out what he was yet, but Gabe was waiting patiently in case he ever did realize it, and he would wait an eternity if he had to.

Gabe grabbed a washcloth off the side of the tub and soaked in the water before gently washing every bit of Pete he could reach. He was being as careful as he could, and each time Pete whimpered or flinched, he paused and tried a softer approach. The amount of tenderness he put into every move only made Pete want to cry more.

"You deserve better," Pete whispered, stiffening as the other reached to wash his face next.

Silence. Nothing but the sound of the water splashing and Pete's uneven breathing. He waited for him to respond, but got nothing but a soft sigh as the cleaning resumed once more. It took a few tries to clean the blood from his face -- he had two bad cuts, one above his left eyebrow and the other on his right cheek -- and then Gabe started to drain the tub. As the water receded, he moved to try and stand, but received a reprimanding look from the other and decided against it.

"I'm turning the shower on now, to rinse anything else off of you," Gabe stated, "I'll help you stand, but you're in no condition to do it on your own."

The shower water was scalding hot at first, but Pete was too preoccupied with his internal monologue to care.

_He doesn't deserve me. I don't know why he chose to be with me. I thought talking about my past, the time I tried to OD, all of that crap, would drive him off. He stays, though, and I'm afraid I'll hurt him like I hurt myself. He deserves so much more._

"You need to stand now," a soft voice whispers in his ear. Gabe's arms are around him, lifting and supporting him as he moved to stand under the stream of water. It almost felt good enough to make him forget what he'd done that night and what was running through his head. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually the hot water ran out.

And then Gabe was picking him up again, finding it a bit difficult with all the water. He leaned into the other, at this point only wishing for sleep, but he found himself on the bathroom counter instead.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"We've gotta clean you up..."

Gabe looks at him and gently cups his cheek, and he feels those tears welling up inside again. He keeps them down for as long as he can. It gets harder, though, as Gabe finds more and more bruises and scrapes to clean. He can SEE Gabe is hurting and he knows it's his fault and he's falling, falling, back into that internal downward spiral, and he doesn't realize that the gasping breaths and loud sobs he hears in the bathroom are being made by him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry..."

It's all he can say. It's all he knows. The more he says it, the more he realizes it's not an apology, but an apt description of what kind of human being he is. And now he's crying, loud, and open, and honest, pouring out every bit of pain inside of him. His head hurts, and his heart hurts, and he can't bring himself to look at Gabe again.

"You don't have to be sorry, it wasn't your fault."

"Y-y-y-yes it was, I got him to do it to me."

"Well, did you tell him to beat you up?"

"N-no, but I-"

"Then it wasn't your fucking fault. Look at me, Pete."

He raises his head and risks a glance at him, unable to read the emotion in his expression. Then Gabe's there, gently wrapping his arms around him, inviting him to sink into the familiar warmth of his body. He clings to the other, as if it's the last thing that will keep him anchored to life, and they stay like that for a while. It was the kind of comforting intimacy that made the voices in Pete's head grow dull, and it made him relax more than any other drug could.

_**I love you.** _

He wanted to say it.

He wanted to say it before he lost the words.

"Hey..."

His voice was grainy, rough, and whatever he was about to say got caught in his throat as Gabe turned his head enough to look at him. Their foreheads touched, and he leaned up for a soft kiss. They couldn't do much besides that, since his face was so sore, but the little gesture was the last piece in the puzzle, and he felt the worst of his anxieties caused by the night melting away.

"We should go to bed," Gabe said, kissing him again before packing up the first aid kit. Pete had been so focused on crying that he hadn't even noticed the other use it. The entire night was melting into a blur for him, and that was when he knew he really needed to sleep.

A repeat of the earlier routine ensued. Gabe carrying him to a destination, except this time it was the bed, and he lay on his side while he waited for the other to return from turning off the house lights. He didn't have to wait long. 

The most beautiful man in the world slipped into bed, facing him, and smiled at him. They moved closer, breathing steadily getting slower and slower as they fell into sleep and just before Pete truly fell off the deep-end, into his dreams, he whispered:

"... _loveyou_..."

He was asleep before he could hear Gabe say it back to him.


End file.
